The 5 Stages of Grief
by lozlol
Summary: ENDGAME SPOILERS! Having trained to be a therapist, Steve starts to worry about how each of his friends are dealing with their grief in the five years after they've lost their fellow superheroes but the Avengers have never been good at accepting help!
1. Natasha: Denial

_**Chapter 1: Natasha- Denial**_

_**This story is totally based on the video made by the Super Carlin Brothers about the original Avengers in Endgame representing the five stages of grief. If you haven't checked it out absolutely do because it's barely even a theory, it seems so obvious after watching that video! Each chapter will be some insight into the coping mechanisms of each Avenger in the five year period between the first 10-15 minutes and the rest of the movie. This movie and the fandom around it has really inspired me- even though right now is my exam period- and I'd love some positivity if you find it interesting! :D**_

* * *

Natasha rubbed at her eyes, staring at the faces flashing up on the screen and scribbling the names underneath. She'd type up them up later; maybe she should just be doing that now but she was too exhausted to sleep straight. Was that a peanut butter and jelly sandwich hovering in the air? If she was hallucinating maybe she really should take a break. But no, a few blinks revealed that there was a hand attached to the plate, and the hand was that of the one and only Captain America. With a grateful nod, she accepted the food. "Thought you might need some nosh. You've been in the same spot for days Tasha."

She took a bite from the sandwich but kept one eye on the screen. "Thanks Cap, but I don't need a babysitter."

He sat down backwards on the chair and paused the screen without any request from her. She raised an eyebrow. "No, but I think you could do with a friend."

With a chuckle, she rolled her tongue around her mouth for a moment before deciding upon what to say. "Just because you got that honorary doctorate of yours by flashing your name doesn't mean you're Dr Phil."

"Oh I've always been the most righteous Avenger. That's on you if you didn't notice," that made her laugh harder than she had in four years, and it hurt, as if she shouldn't be doing it. There was plenty of time for laughter once she'd saved the ones they'd lost.

Her friend studied her from across the table in that new way he had of his. He might say he hadn't changed, but she could see him psychoanalysing her from fifty feet away. To distract him before he could say anything, she suggested they go see a play since he was here. The theatre might not be the first thing you'd expect superheroes to do on their days off but the tone of the singers and the classic style brought him back to his Golden days, whilst it gave her a rush to push through a performance without breaking down and falling into the darkness of those strict ballet lessons. That was why still kept the shoes on her desk. To remind herself that she could push through anything and come out on the other side.

* * *

Settling into her seat, Natasha glanced around them. It wasn't half, but a lot of the seats were empty. Steve had pointed to the whales in the sea, saying something about less pollution. She had a feeling he'd said something similar before, and would probably do so again, knowing that she wasn't fully taking it in. Maybe it made her the villain, but she couldn't make herself care. She would take back all the pollution to regain the people that they'd lost. Today in particular, she'd been occupied with staring out the window in the other direction at the monument being constructed in the city centre. A gulp had caught in her throat like a ball, because she knew she had a huge list of names to send by the deadline to carve onto those monuments in every city around them. She was going to avoid walking this way if she ever could. Wasn't Thanos's whole point resources? Why should they waste resources on monuments when they were going to get everyone back? It might take a while but she knew it would all get back to normal.

Steve shook her arm lightly and she snapped her head to him. "I said what flavour ice cream do you want?"

She forced a grin. "Chocolate, of course."

Nodding, he kept his eyes on her for as long as he could as he walked away. She stared at the red curtain in front of her and had to blink back memories of the Red Room. So hard that when Steve returned with a chocolate for her and a vanilla for himself she jumped. "Is everything alright?" He asked, even though he must have known what he'd answer would be.

She set her face, turned to him and smiled. "Of course. I was just in my own world."

* * *

As the curtain came up Natasha's eyes flitted down to the orchestra without her volition. With each dramatic surge of the music she saw a musician self combust, splattering the pit with blood the colour of the curtain. She rubbed at her eyes in horror, vaguely aware that Steve was glancing at her and trying to appear as normal as possible. As if she were just tired. Look up to the stage. Focus on the performance. Alright, she could do that. She took a steadying breath and watched the dancers. For a moment she accumulated to what was going on onstage. She'd just caught up to what was happening when a violin scratched back and forwards and the prima ballerina leaped at another- except instead of seeing these two women she didn't know Natasha saw herself as a teenaged and her greatest rival in the Red Room sparring with her. Except she wasn't just playing, she meant to kill that girl who'd taken her spot as the favourite. Natasha scratched at her throat, shutting her eyes. "Nat?" Her breathing was heavy now, no matter how much she attempted to disguise it.

Open your eyes. You look crazy. Psycho killer. That voice spoke in her Soviet instructor's voice. Of course. She hadn't seen her for years, but it was as if she were hissing directly into her ears. She knew there was no-one there but she opened her eyes. It would scare the demon away. Yes, the voice was replaced by incredibly loud music, assaulting her eardrums. "Nat."

The prima ballerina collapsed dramatically to the floor in a leap and a flood of characters flew onto the stage, enveloping her. Natasha may have been separated from them by several rows of seating but she felt just as trapped as the performer must. The faces of the ensemble morphed into Wanda's, Sam's, Fury's and then the prima ballerina leapt up from the circle with a knife, except it was the face of the Black Widow killer that must have looked down upon countless victims. Her friends- no, family, turned to despair and fear as she assaulted them even from her position gripping the edges of her chair. "Natasha!"

She bit her lip hard to focus on something else, something easier; her own pain. But as the curtain fell all her senses flooded with blood and a memory screamed at her. I have red in my ledger. So much. All those people. Like Tony's kid. He'd been innocent. "Nat!" Steve gripped her hand and she turned to look at him. It was the interval and most of the audience was stood up, milling around stretching or buying snacks. "Do you want to go outside and talk?"

She licked the blood off her lip before he saw it. "If you have something you want to get off your chest. But I don't want to miss Act 2."

He frowned. "You didn't seem okay."

"I'm great!" She proclaimed. "I was just invested in the performance. It was captivating, right?"

With a reluctant shrug, he asked if she wanted anything to drink and she decided to go with him to the bar to decide. As they walked over she glanced down at the picture on her phone, Wanda's profile picture and her number. She could imagine it buzzing with her information at any moment. One day it would.


	2. Clint: Anger

**_Chapter 2- Clint: Anger_**

Clint screamed his family's names until he was too hoarse to do it anymore. Then he got a call from the Avengers checking to see if he was still there. They filled him in on what had been going on and with every word he grew more and more furious. Who did this space man think he was to snap his fingers and vanish half of the population? Just like it hadn't been fair in China to institute a one child policy, this was even worse. And it couldn't be a long term solution. Didn't he realise that humans would continue to reproduce and eventually they would return to their previous population size just as they had done with plagues or massacres in the past? How had Thanos chosen who to take and who to leave? Natasha said he snapped his fingers and it was done, like some sadistic god. Did he have to think hard as he did it? If Clint had been forced to do the same he would have snapped away the killers, the rapists, the abusers. He soon learnt that wasn't what had been done when such an unsavoury looted his home, trying to take his daughter's IPad, his son's blanket. Clint, who had been staring at his- now cold- buttered toast all evening, snatched the steak knife from its place hanging above his head and threw it straight and sharp into the would-be robber's head. Morbid though it may he, he sat down at the table with the first even remotely positive emotion since he'd lost his family. In fact, as he took the first bite of his toast he felt wholly satisfied, even if only for a moment.

* * *

"This is a beautiful weapon," said the arms dealer, running a cloth down it to clean it for Clint as he detailed its history.

"Fascinating," The Agent said, taking the samurai sword to inspect it himself, keeping his eyes carefully on it. "But I think you left a key part out of the official biography."

The shopkeeper had already been gazing at him like a starving beast hoping to con him into a large profit, but now his eyes grew even more interested. "Oh?" Clint smiled and stuck the sharp end into his chest, evoking a sudden startled gasp. "Wh-wh-Why?"

"Half of the world died," Clint said before he twisted the sword and finished the job. "You traded this for your daughter but you didn't." With a few variations, this would become his copy and paste explanation whenever someone wanted one.

* * *

When most took a trip back home from Australia they'd collapse on the plane halfway through their first movie. Clint, however, stayed fully alert for the whole journey. He never let his guard down in public anymore, now that his legend was spreading. Especially as this had been his first time punishing abroad- he'd been working his way around the US for over a year but when he'd read the news a week ago he'd known he had to track down this heathen and take him out. For himself, he would be willing to accept the cold grip of death returning him to his family but he had a responsibility to them to take out who should be gone from the world before he could join them up there. Like that sick child trafficker in Sydney who the defunct courts had let off with community service. _They_ might be pretending he hadn't committed all those crimes due to his connections and threats held over the jury but Clint could see the guilt in his eyes, his muscles, his over confident grin moments before he had bled out. For just a minute or so he'd been filled with a righteous rush but then, as ever, the cold had enveloped him, leaving him empty.

A hand reached down into his peripheral vision and Clint immediately snatched it, twisting it backwards and looking up into his attacker's face to see a flight attendant gasping as she dropped his Mac and Cheese in-flight meal with a clatter, the lid staying on due to the elastic band around it but the salad, which had been in a lidless bowl, crunching under the foot of a man who had been taking a bathroom break. He paused, looking at them and asking if everything was alright. His eyes narrowed as he helped the woman up. "Sorry," Clint muttered some half baked excuse and luckily the flight attendant offered her own apologies, something about how she needed to start asking before she put meals down in front of patrons.

* * *

He wasn't a fool, Clint knew he needed sleep. Of course, he couldn't do it in the Uber home either but when he arrived he planned to collapse straight into bed. However actually being there was a whole other challenge entirely. Laura's side of the bed still somehow smelt like her perfume and he took a long mournful inhale before shaking his head and storming over to the phone, putting off what he needed.

"Hi this is Laura," announced a perky voice that made his heart soar. "Clint," he could hear the love in his voice, remembering the laughter hurting his cheeks as she'd passed the phone along the line bossily for the kids to say their names with varying degrees of effectiveness. "You've just missed us but leave a message and we might get to it eventually!"

"Hey Clint," his heart stumbled as her voice switched to a new one with a sharp click. "We just wanted to let you know Tony's back. With a blue robot alien. But the uh, the kid's gone," Steve Rogers' voice deepened with sorrow and Clint wiped his brow. He wished he had less of a void in him, that he could feel more for that statement. "Tony's done, he's going to live with Pepper far away from all this." There was resignation in his voice and Clint shook his head. Those two were so obvious. They sparred like two cats in heat but they were two sides of the same coin. They needed each other and they'd accept any event pulling them back together. "The rest of us are going to get Thanos if you're interested in taking part. The blue robot alien girl is his daughter and she knows where he'll be." Clint genuinely considered it before he realised that this voicemail was from over a year ago. "If not, if we don't come back my key for the compound is under the flowerpot." He almost smiled at that joke, something he hadn't done in a long, long time.

The next voicemail was from a week later. "We did it," Steve said but there was no triumph in his voice at all, the small amount of hope from last time was gone, leaving only resignation. "Thor killed Thanos but it was too easy. He'd achieved all he'd wanted to and destroyed the stones so we can't reverse it," Clint felt bile rise in his throat. He hadn't even considered the possibility that he might be able to get them back but to know that had been what they'd been hoping and now there was nothing- that he wasn't the only hopeless one... He had never been the positive icon in the group but to think of the man from the Greatest Generation giving up made things all the more real. He didn't realise he'd screwed up his fists until he saw the bloody half moons he'd imprinted into his palm since he hadn't cut his nails for who knew how long.

The next message wasn't until a couple of months later. "Have you hung out with Nat? I think she needs a break from cataloging all the Vanished." There was a name for them now? As though it were a disease. A chapter in a history textbook. "I know she'd love to see you, she misses her family and you were probably the first member of that she ever had." Clint scratched at his stubbly beard and then skipped the remainder of that message.

"Hi. I came by to check on you since none of us have heard anything for months. I waited for an hour but you didn't show up. I've been taking a course on grief counselling to start leading a group and I know you might have wanted some space but at this point you need friends to remind you you're not alone. Please just... come by the compound or let me know when's a good time to come see you."

Final message. As it started to play Clint's eyes snapped to the framed photo of his whole family on the day his youngest son had been born. "Clint. There's been a series of murders across the country. But I think you know about that, don't you?" The old perhaps not innocent but somewhat less broken version of him was beaming down at his new son in his wife's arms as their two other children peered at the new arrival crowded onto their mom's bed. "After I brought Nat back from the ballet I got her to take a nap and I did a bit of my own research. I watched several YouTube videos from different angles of the killer in different location and in the last one I zoomed in and did some colour correction- I'll admit that Bruce helped me out with the app." Laura was looking at the other him, and on her face he saw something different than he ever had when he'd looked at it before. Relief. She saw that he was finally wholly committed. He wouldn't be missing anymore carpools or waterskiing lessons to risk his life for people he didn't even know. "I spotted a deactivated tracking bracelet on the killer's foot. Then we went back to chronologically later videos and saw it had been pulled off." Ever since he was put on house arrest he'd been there for his family whenever they needed him. And that wasn't by chance. Cap had shown up at their cell and started to spring them out, but both he and Scott had known they couldn't be with their families if they were on the run so they'd stayed locked up, watching as Sam left to become a vigilante with Steve and Natasha. He'd known Wanda wasn't going with them, that she was going back to Vision, and he'd gripped his surrogate daughter's hand as she'd left too to split up. But he'd been aware that he couldn't convince her to stay. That her situation was different from his. "Now I know this may not be completely compelling evidence but I've learnt to trust my gut in situations like this and, paired with the fact that none of us can track you down, I think the so called Robin Hood Killer has another name: Hawkeye." He grabbed the photo in one hand and with the other searched the name 'Wanda Maximoff' into a search engine. "The way you're 'dealing' with your grief is anger Clint, but this isn't dealing, it's just displacement. You're allowed to express however you feel but you need to do it in a healthy way. I started boxing to deal with mine when I got out of the ice- come see me. I can help you learn breathing techniques, how t-"

Having opened a news article ranking the top 100 most influential people stolen by The Snap, Clint saw a black and white photo accompanying number 99; Wanda Maximoff. He yanked the cable out of the home phone, smashed the frame against the table and stormed out of his house gripping his cell phone in his hand. As he called another Uber he seethed with rage at the 'author' of article, a better name perhaps the architect of everyone else's pain. How dare they play tragic 2000's pop songs over the top? How dare they paint Wanda as dangerous and only influential in that way? How dare they rank her so low? How dare they rank anyone at all? As if this were a game. The car drew up in the distance and before Clint climbed in, slammed the door and barked out an address, he dropped his phone in the mud and stomped it under his foot. He had memorised the journalist's name anyway.


	3. Bruce: Bargaining

_**C****hapter 3- Bruce: Bargaining**_

Of course he would help if and when Cap or Nat called, but Bruce had his own experiments to conduct. In Sekhovia Hulk had stopped Ultron but had shut off Comms with Nat on the quinjet. He'd ended up taking control for two years, stealing a fifth of a decade of Bruce's life. Who knew how long it may have lasted if Thor hadn't come to the trash planet he was on and gotten him out of it. Not that it mattered. Even as Hulk Thanos had thrashed him around their spaceship worse than he had once done to Loki, then as Banner he'd been helpless, unable to use the one superhero sized asset he had since his alter ego wouldn't help. Tony had set the quinjet to recognise him as the strongest Avenger yet none of his identities had been able to defeat the mad Titan. If he was supposed to be their saviour then he was surely a disappointing one. Maybe there was some way he could finally reconcile both. That had been his aim and he'd worked at it for months with the other guy fighting him until the Hulk had finally accepted this might be a way to work together. The green guy hadn't wanted to lose his agency and he didn't want to acknowledge he wasn't strong enough to defeat Thanos. That had been a tough pill to swallow but Banner had eventually convinced him. It wasn't just about the science; he couldn't have forced the much stronger creature into anything so his co-operation was needed. Once that had been achieved he could actually test out the chemical mixture he'd created, or else Hulk would have just chucked it back up!

On the day of the chemical trial Bruce grinned like a mad scientist, pushing his goggles up and holding the test tube out in front of him. It was almost opposite on a colour wheel to the one that had first transformed him. Just as he'd been about to try it the doorbell to his lab had gone off. He put the tube back in its holder and pressed the button opening communication. "Heyo?" He announced excitedly, glancing back at his creation.

"Hi Bruce, can I come in?" He clicked the other button to unlock the door and beamed at his fellow Avenger. "You're in a good mood," said Steve with a raised eyebrow. "What are you up to?"

Bruce pulled him inside, shutting the door, and then over to the lab bench. "Scientific history." He explained what he'd done and then did it again in simpler terms when Cap didn't understand. The second time his eyes widened in shock.

"Are you sure that's safe?"

"Not at all," Bruce laughed and his friend put a hand on his arm but Bruce shook it off. "I didn't know when I took Formula number one either!"

"But you didn't take that on purpose!" Steve pointed out.

He shrugged. "Nope, I was exposed to the radiation trying to perfect your super soldier serum." Steve tipped his head and Bruce rolled his eyes. "Ross's words not mine. Personally I think the version that transformed you worked perfectly Cap." He made an mm-hm noise but Bruce waved a hand. "Anyway, we're talking about today not years ago." His voice switched from jocular to lower, more serious. "You saw how useless I was in the Battle of Wakanda." Steve opened his mouth but he pushed on. "Not trying to show off but just think about us logically. The big guy should have been able to square up against Thanos, just physically speaking. Should have tossed him against the wall like with Loki in New York and snatched that gauntlet before he could take Bucky or Sam or Wanda." Upon hearing the names of each of his friends, the muscles in Steve's cheek tensed. "That Titan shouldn't have even made it to Vision. Shouldn't have even made it to Earth. He tossed Hulk off of our ship and as Banner I woke shattered and useless in a pit in Strange's sanctum." He bit out the adjectives, remembering how he'd looked up at those wizards and then trailed behind Tony, trying to help in any way he could but his voice had come out weak and trembling as he'd explained who was coming for them before being sent away. He took a moment before continuing, not wanting to sound like that again now. "After that the only way I could contribute was through something Tony had built. And the Hulk wouldn't even consider coming to help. I need to try something new."

Steve scratched at his head. "I still don't know Bruce. Is this worth it? What if you end up worse? Hurt?"

"I've been researching this for months," Bruce said. He stepped forwards and gripped his friend's arm. "And I know Thanos is gone now. I'm not forgetting that, but I'm also not stupid enough to imagine he's left us in a safer world. surely we've just swapped one evil for another, we should know that by now. The next time Earth is attacked I don't wanna be crouched in a hole as I watch it burn."

Steve let out a reluctant noise but shook his head. "Evocative. Consider me convinced." Bruce broke into a grin and handed him a taser, sending him behind a plastic screen. "What's this for?"

Leaving him there, Bruce headed back over to the bench and took the test tube out of its holder. "Just in case I produce Super Wrecking Hulk instead of the Professor. It's never an exact science."

Steve looked around at all of the scientific equipment. "Then what is it?"

Bruce pulled the stopper off the tube and smirked. "Art." He downed the contents and for a moment he felt normal but then he could feel the liquid flowing down his throat and clutched at it, only for claws to begin to snap out, cutting his throat. Breathing heavily through his teeth, his eyes glinted at Steve, reflected like a mirror in the glass until they slowly turned monstrous, made all the more evident through the most righteous Avenger's changing expression silhouetted perfectly behind his own image. Little patches of green broke out like a terminal infectious disease, slowly coating his humanoid skin. His bones snapped and reformed forever as he bent backwards to howl like a werewolf engulfed by agony. Then he came back up, looking at his hands, his green hands! Steve was still holding out the taser, but slowly lowered it.

"Bruce?" He felt different, like there was more to his mind now; more intelligence, more personality, but he still had all the aspects of his own mind. He was in Hulk's body but he was himself. Just with the Hyde parts imbued into Dr Jekyll. He nodded, picking up his glasses with humanlike control, even though he had to be careful not to snap them with his enhanced strength. Steve fully lowered the taser and stepped out from behind the glass, his mouth dropping open. "Do you- do you have an antidote?"

"No," he said. "I don't need one. I'd much rather always be prepared."

* * *

As the doctor, no-one had ever recognised him but walking around in Hulk form Bruce was an unexpected celebrity. Kids were always asking for a selfie or attractive women were blushing and stuttering. It was a welcome exchange from the way such people used to laugh at his awkwardness. He felt so much more confident and in control than he ever had before, even the parts of him that were Hulk! This was exactly what he'd wanted, and he knew that when the next threat came he would be ready.

_**Review!**_


	4. Thor: Depression

**_Chapter 4- Thor: Depression_**

After he corrected his mistake and went for the head Thor stalked out of the mad Titan's home with his cape billowing behind him. He sat down in their spaceship and stared out of the front window with nothing on his mind whatsoever. He didn't feel victorious or better or even worse. Just numb. He didn't even notice when the other Avengers joined him or when they took off. He had no idea if they'd had an in depth discussion or been as anti social as he had- but only stood up when they landed and disembarked without a word.

The others wanted to stay together at the compound but their female visitor from space had already taken off and he wished he could do the same. However he still had responsibilities to the half of his people who hadn't been decimated by the Snap. When he'd been left to die in space by Thanos, Valkyrie had saved most of the Asgardians and then tracked him down to Earth. They had sought temporary refuge near the Avengers facility but now Thor was back he took them to Norway, specifically the field he'd stood in with his father when Odin had said that this place could be home. He didn't feel that anymore as he thought of the last time he had been here. Loki by his side. Their father's presence. Now he just felt empty. But Valkyrie was optimistic. She scouted out the town his father had fought the Frost Giants in and mapped out all the improvements she wanted to make. Thor said nothing, but he doubted it could ever be completed. Yet she and the others worked at it and every time he went down to the docks at the end of the month he felt a faint sense of being impressed. Still, he could never force himself to feel it fully. All he felt was a little more exertion each time he climbed up that hill with a little more weight on his stomach. But Valkyrie refused to bring the supplies of beer and snacks up and he needed sustenance. It set his routine off kilter but he could do it. It was either that or die of thirst or starvation- whichever hurt a god more. Not that he was much of a god anymore. All he did all afternoon- since he slept until at least one after the lunching hour- was play some game Korg had read about on the Goggle called Fortnite whilst he fed and quenched himself until he passed out on the sofa. Only one day several years after this process began did things ever change.

* * *

Thor woke up to see a chiselled face looking down at him anxiously. For a moment he thought he was having a fever dream about the face Jane must have fallen in love with- Oh Jane!- but then he realised that the features may be scientifically manufactured but no human science could ever rival godly perfection. "Steven!" He proclaimed, throwing his arms around his co-Avenger.

Pulling back from the shirtless god and glancing down at the chocolate wrappers and empty bottles on the floor, the super soldier corrected, "it's just Steve on my birth certificate." Thor waved his hand and offered a breakfast- or was it dinner- beer but the still buff, still blond man shook his head. "I started a support group. I was wondering if you'd like to come by some time."

"To support you doing what?"

"Not to support me," said Steve. "It's a group where I adjudicate and you all discuss your issues to help each other recover."

Thor forced a chuckle but it wasn't like the easy one he used to have. "I have no issues."

"You fit the cognitive, emotional and behavioural characteristics for depression," Steve said gently.

"Name one such human criteria," Thor picked at the so called 'pork rinds' Korg had ordered from Amazon. Speaking of, where was Korg? Probably off spending his money on bean bags with cup holders again.

Steve ticked them off on his hands. "Well cognitive-wise you seem to have black and white thinking- it's all or nothing, either glory or isolation. Emotionally there was that automatic anger when you chopped off Thanos's head without discussion with any of us." Thor started to protest but Cap pushed on. "And now you're lying here sad with lowered self esteem. And don't let me forget the behavioural categories: weight fluctuation; sleep gain; social impairment."

Thor narrowed his eyes. "I'm happy. I have high self esteem. As you said- I'm the one who killed the worst villain we've ever faced. Did you do that?" He got up into Steve's face, pointing at him as lightning thundered in his eyes, a storm cloud rumbling above the roof. "And you must not mistake my appetite for apathy- as my Asgardian friend sai..." his dead Asgardian friend. What was the point in being in a universe without his family? His childhood friends? They were supposed to be immortal! Did they not know the definition? They should have lived by his side forever! Steve looked down at his clenched fists and as he did, Thor unclenched them. Sunny light filtered back through the curtains and the clouds rolled away. "Are you trying to antagonise the remaining acquaintances you have? Stark already turned against you- yes I picked up on that at the compound even though you seem to think I'm in a selfish black hole of mediocrity. And the closest friends you have are gone, just as mine are."

The captain glared at him, but continued to speak, through his teeth. "You're displacing."

Unsure what that meant, Thor ignored it. "We are in a similar position, you and I. Why don't you sit down and play this battle game? I'm sure you miss the rush just as I do. You're like me. Not Stark." The other superhero had given it all up. He'd always been fighting to go home. But both he and the soldier fought for something real. To not have that fight, it was- life was empty.

Steve sighed mournfully and sat down on the one space he could find without Cheez-It dust. "It's not necessarily the battle I miss. It's the past in general. I don't belong here."

Thor looked out the window to see Valkyrie and the other Asgardians. "I don't think many belong in this post apocalyptic space."

"Not just now. Ever since I arrived in modern day I've wanted to go back. I had just become exactly who I'd always wanted to be. I had just found my..." He stopped himself and turned to face the god. "But we're supposed to be talking about you."

"I'd rather not."

They had an intense stare off for a minute at least before Steve gave in. "At least let me make you one nutritious meal before I leave. It may end up burnt but it was a long flight and I'd rather not have another one of those in flight punishments so soon." Well he would never turn down food. Especially not the roast chicken and potatoes Rogers had bought. No gravy or bread rolls unfortunately. But the green beans, carrots and parsnips weren't as bad as he'd anticipated. In fact they were rather delicious for a change. But Cap was in that kitchen for hours. And eating at the table he hadn't known the cabin owned was strange. He wouldn't be making this his new routine.

As the sky darkened he waved the First Avenger off, promising he'd be welcome back whenever he liked to come. He watched an Asgardian peasant drive him off in a truck trundling down the pot-holed road and then Thor threw his head back and looked at the sky. He didn't own it, but it was a part of him. He missed drawing from it to defeat those who fought him. There had been nights when he and Loki had snuck out of the palace- or so they thought, since their mother had always known exactly where they were going. Not even the god of mischief had been able to outwit her. At least not before he had grown up. Anyway- they'd lain on the grass pointing to all the planets they wanted to explore when they were older, and as they'd grown they'd ticked them off. He shook his head at the sky and headed back inside to pick up the X-box controller. All those memes on the internet pushed a life of lying on the bed watching movies and eating and drinking. He had the life those mortals all desired. This was what happy felt like, right? Who needed the stars?

AN: I love writing in Thor's voice- hope you enjoyed!


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